Inner Harbor
Page 54
"Well…" Ethan scratched at his chin, "you've been looking a little tense lately."
"For Christ's sake, I'm entitled to look a little tense." He threw out his arms as if to encompass the world that too often weighed on his shoulders. "I put in ten, twelve hours a day in Baltimore, then come down here and sweat like a goddamn galley slave in the boatyard. That's when I'm not frying my brains over the books and the bills or playing housewife at the grocery store or making sure Seth doesn't slide out of his homework."
"Always was bitchy," Cam mumbled.
"You want bitchy?" Phillip took one threatening step forward, but this time Cam grinned and spread his hands.
"Ethan'll just toss you off the dock. Me, I don't feel like a swim just now."
"First few times with me, I thought I was dreaming."
Confused, unsure if he wanted to punch Cam or just sit down for a while, Phillip looked back at Ethan. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I thought we were discussing your mental health." Ethan's tone was mild, conversational now. "It was good to see him. Hard to know you'd have to let him go again, but it was worth it."
A chill danced up Phillip's spine, and he put his suddenly unsteady hands safely in his pockets. "Maybe we should be talking about your mental health."
"We figured when it was your turn, you'd head for the therapist's couch." Cam grinned again. "Or Aruba."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." Ethan spoke calmly, then settled down on the dock, legs dangling, to take out a cigar. "It's your turn. Looks like he took us in the same order he took us in."
"Symmetry," Cam decided, dropping down beside Ethan. "He'd have liked the symmetry of it. I talked to him the first time the day I met Anna." He thought back to it, the way he'd seen her cross the back lawn with that knockout face and that ugly suit. "I guess that's a kind of symmetry, too."
The chill was still dancing, tapping fast now, up and down Phillip's spine. "What do you mean, talked to him'?"
"Had a conversation." Cam plucked the cigar out of Ethan's mouth and helped himself to a puff. "Of course, I figured I'd cracked." He glanced up, smiled. "You figure you've cracked, Phil?"
"No. I've just been working too hard."
"Shit, drawing pictures, coming up with jingles. Big deal."
"Kiss ass." But with a sigh, he sat on the dock. "Are the two of you trying to tell me you've talked to Dad? The one who died in March? The one we buried a few miles from here?"
In an easy gesture Cam passed Phillip the cigar. "You trying to tell us you haven't?"
"I don't believe in that sort of thing."
"Doesn't much matter what you believe when it happens," Ethan pointed out and took back his cigar. "Last time I saw him was the night I asked Grace to marry me. He had a bag of peanuts."
"Christ Jesus," Phillip murmured.
"I could smell them, the same way I can smell this cigar smoke, the water, Cam's leather jacket."
"When people die, that's it. They don't come back." Phillip paused a moment, waiting until the cigar came back down the line to him. "Did you--touch him?"
Cam angled his head. "Did you?"
"He was solid. He couldn't be."
"It's either that," Ethan pointed out, "or we're all crazy."
"We barely had time to say good-bye, and no time to understand." Cam let out a breath. His grief had eased and softened. "He bought us each a little more time. That's what I think."
"He and Mom bought us all time when they made us Quinns." He couldn't think about it, Phillip decided. Not now, at any rate. "It must have ripped him when he found out he had a daughter he'd never known."
"He'd have wanted to help her, save her," Ethan murmured.
"He'd have seen it was too late for her. But not for Seth," Cam concluded. "So he'd have done whatever he could do to save Seth."
"His grandson." Phillip watched an egret soar, then slide silently into the dark. And he was no longer cold. "He'd have seen himself in the eyes, but he would've wanted answers. I've been thinking about that. The logical step would have been for him to try to locate Gloria's mother, have her confirm it."
"It would have taken time." Cam considered it. "She's married, she's living in Europe, and from what Sybill said, she wasn't interested in contacting him."
"And he ran out of time," Phillip concluded. "But now we know. And now, we make it stick."
she hadn't meant to sleep. Sybill indulged in a long, hot shower, then wrapped herself in a robe with the intention of adding to her notes. She ordered herself to drum up the courage to call her mother, to speak her mind and demand a written corroboration of her own notarized statement.
She did neither. Instead she fell face down on the bed, closed her eyes, and escaped.
The knocking at the door pulled her out of sleep into groggy. She stumbled out of bed, fumbled for the light switch. With her mind still fuzzy, she walked through the parlor and barely had the presence of mind to check the peephole.
She let out a self-directed annoyed sigh as she flipped off the locks.
Phillip took one look at her tousled hair, sleepy eyes, and practical navy terry robe, and smiled. "Well, I did tell you not to dress up."
"I'm sorry. I fell asleep." Distracted, she pushed at her hair. She hated being mussed, particularly when he looked so fresh and alert. And gorgeous.
"If you're tired, I'll take a rain check."
"No, I… if I sleep any more now I'll end up wide awake at three A.M. I hate hotel rooms at three A.M." She stepped back to let him in. "I'll just get dressed."
"Stay comfortable," he suggested, and used his free hand to cup the nape of her neck and bring her forward for a casual kiss. "I've already seen you naked. And a very appealing sight it was."
It appeared, she decided, that her dignity was still just out of reach.
"I'm not going to claim that was a mistake."
"For Christ's sake, I'm entitled to look a little tense." He threw out his arms as if to encompass the world that too often weighed on his shoulders. "I put in ten, twelve hours a day in Baltimore, then come down here and sweat like a goddamn galley slave in the boatyard. That's when I'm not frying my brains over the books and the bills or playing housewife at the grocery store or making sure Seth doesn't slide out of his homework."
"Always was bitchy," Cam mumbled.
"You want bitchy?" Phillip took one threatening step forward, but this time Cam grinned and spread his hands.
"Ethan'll just toss you off the dock. Me, I don't feel like a swim just now."
"First few times with me, I thought I was dreaming."
Confused, unsure if he wanted to punch Cam or just sit down for a while, Phillip looked back at Ethan. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I thought we were discussing your mental health." Ethan's tone was mild, conversational now. "It was good to see him. Hard to know you'd have to let him go again, but it was worth it."
A chill danced up Phillip's spine, and he put his suddenly unsteady hands safely in his pockets. "Maybe we should be talking about your mental health."
"We figured when it was your turn, you'd head for the therapist's couch." Cam grinned again. "Or Aruba."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." Ethan spoke calmly, then settled down on the dock, legs dangling, to take out a cigar. "It's your turn. Looks like he took us in the same order he took us in."
"Symmetry," Cam decided, dropping down beside Ethan. "He'd have liked the symmetry of it. I talked to him the first time the day I met Anna." He thought back to it, the way he'd seen her cross the back lawn with that knockout face and that ugly suit. "I guess that's a kind of symmetry, too."
The chill was still dancing, tapping fast now, up and down Phillip's spine. "What do you mean, talked to him'?"
"Had a conversation." Cam plucked the cigar out of Ethan's mouth and helped himself to a puff. "Of course, I figured I'd cracked." He glanced up, smiled. "You figure you've cracked, Phil?"
"No. I've just been working too hard."
"Shit, drawing pictures, coming up with jingles. Big deal."
"Kiss ass." But with a sigh, he sat on the dock. "Are the two of you trying to tell me you've talked to Dad? The one who died in March? The one we buried a few miles from here?"
In an easy gesture Cam passed Phillip the cigar. "You trying to tell us you haven't?"
"I don't believe in that sort of thing."
"Doesn't much matter what you believe when it happens," Ethan pointed out and took back his cigar. "Last time I saw him was the night I asked Grace to marry me. He had a bag of peanuts."
"Christ Jesus," Phillip murmured.
"I could smell them, the same way I can smell this cigar smoke, the water, Cam's leather jacket."
"When people die, that's it. They don't come back." Phillip paused a moment, waiting until the cigar came back down the line to him. "Did you--touch him?"
Cam angled his head. "Did you?"
"He was solid. He couldn't be."
"It's either that," Ethan pointed out, "or we're all crazy."
"We barely had time to say good-bye, and no time to understand." Cam let out a breath. His grief had eased and softened. "He bought us each a little more time. That's what I think."
"He and Mom bought us all time when they made us Quinns." He couldn't think about it, Phillip decided. Not now, at any rate. "It must have ripped him when he found out he had a daughter he'd never known."
"He'd have wanted to help her, save her," Ethan murmured.
"He'd have seen it was too late for her. But not for Seth," Cam concluded. "So he'd have done whatever he could do to save Seth."
"His grandson." Phillip watched an egret soar, then slide silently into the dark. And he was no longer cold. "He'd have seen himself in the eyes, but he would've wanted answers. I've been thinking about that. The logical step would have been for him to try to locate Gloria's mother, have her confirm it."
"It would have taken time." Cam considered it. "She's married, she's living in Europe, and from what Sybill said, she wasn't interested in contacting him."
"And he ran out of time," Phillip concluded. "But now we know. And now, we make it stick."
she hadn't meant to sleep. Sybill indulged in a long, hot shower, then wrapped herself in a robe with the intention of adding to her notes. She ordered herself to drum up the courage to call her mother, to speak her mind and demand a written corroboration of her own notarized statement.
She did neither. Instead she fell face down on the bed, closed her eyes, and escaped.
The knocking at the door pulled her out of sleep into groggy. She stumbled out of bed, fumbled for the light switch. With her mind still fuzzy, she walked through the parlor and barely had the presence of mind to check the peephole.
She let out a self-directed annoyed sigh as she flipped off the locks.
Phillip took one look at her tousled hair, sleepy eyes, and practical navy terry robe, and smiled. "Well, I did tell you not to dress up."
"I'm sorry. I fell asleep." Distracted, she pushed at her hair. She hated being mussed, particularly when he looked so fresh and alert. And gorgeous.
"If you're tired, I'll take a rain check."
"No, I… if I sleep any more now I'll end up wide awake at three A.M. I hate hotel rooms at three A.M." She stepped back to let him in. "I'll just get dressed."
"Stay comfortable," he suggested, and used his free hand to cup the nape of her neck and bring her forward for a casual kiss. "I've already seen you naked. And a very appealing sight it was."
It appeared, she decided, that her dignity was still just out of reach.
"I'm not going to claim that was a mistake."
